


counting doubts on broken fingers

by Lint



Series: Madeline [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 22:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13691157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lint/pseuds/Lint
Summary: “I'm not her,” she says softly. “I exist because I'm supposed to be everything she isn't. So tell me, Veronica. Who am I really, if I pretend to be?”





	counting doubts on broken fingers

**Author's Note:**

> For Odalis. She knows why.

Sunlight beams through parted curtains, slashing across the bed, slowly creeping toward the sleeping girl. Once it hits her face she groans, instantly rolling away from the invading light, and settles back against the pillow. It only takes one sleepy breath to realize something isn't right. Her eyes snap open, as she bolts upright, looking frantically around the room.

 

No, she thinks. This isn't, she not supposed to be...

 

A cautious foot slides over the edge of the mattress, before finding its way to the floor below, quickly followed by the other as she pushes away from the bed. Gone is the confidence she normally carries herself with, taking shaky steps toward the vanity, and when she looks into the mirror it's not her face she sees.

 

Betty's long blonde locks fall to her shoulders, tangled and tousled from sleep, and she reaches up to play with the ends. It's Betty's teddy bear with a wrench t-shirt she wears. As well as her stars and moons pajama pants. But it's not Betty staring back in the reflection.

 

Madeline watches her hand move to the mirror, touching the face that should be hers, everything about this just feeling all wrong. Her hair. Where is her hair? She moves swiftly to the closet, pulling the door open and dropping to her knees, searching frantically for the box of her things Betty keeps hidden inside.

 

Breathing a sigh of relief when she finds it, the top goes flying off the box and she quickly smooths back Betty's honey blonde strands, covering them with her more familiar black.

 

“Okay,” she says softly to herself. “Something must have happened. Something bad if I'm here and she's not.”

 

Thing is, she _should_ know. That's how it works with them. Betty is none to concerned about anything she does, but Madeline prefers to be abreast of everything. Except this time, when she tries to search inside their mind, all she can see is some cold blank space. It's like Betty all of a sudden doesn't want to let her in.

 

She moves toward the vanity again, glad to finally see herself staring back, even though she's still in Betty's pajamas.

 

“Hey,” she tries. “Are you in there?”

 

They've never communicated before. Not directly. Sometimes Madeline would find notes left for her when Betty knew the change was coming, and sometimes she would leave them herself whenever it felt necessary, but today is full of first it seems.

 

“Hey,” she tries again. “Blondie. Talk to me. Why am I out?”

 

Madeline feels her eyes loose focus, as she closes them against the blur, a small voice now echoing between her ears.

 

“Are you crying?” Madeline asks. “No, I'm not judging you I just want to-what do you mean you can't deal with it right now? What's it? What happened?”

 

Madeline feels her heart start racing.

 

“No, don't! Don't crawl back into your hidey hole! You've got school today, right? What am I supposed to do about that?”

 

Tears fall down her cheeks, and Madeline blindly wipes them away, knowing they're not hers.

 

“Okay, okay. I won't force you. But don't go yet, you have to walk me through-Betty! Come back! What the fuck am I supposed to do about-”

 

Her eyes open, vision clear and sharp, but the voice has silenced .

 

“Well,” she mutters to her reflection. “Shit.”

 

-

 

Madeline walks into the kitchen, fidgeting with the hem of the one sweater in Betty's closet she didn't hate on sight. A dark purple cardigan the only garment that wasn't pale pink, baby blue, or canary yellow. Betty's hair is pulled taunt into a ponytail with a matching strand of ribbon, she choosing to leave her own behind in the closet, too many questions and all that. The skin tight jeans, coupled with a black pair of Chucks, will just have to do as far as an outfit is concerned.

 

She opens the fridge wishing to find some orange juice, when Alice suddenly appears in the doorway without a sound.

 

“Good morning,” Madeline says, hoping it sounds chipper enough to pass as Betty.

 

Alice frowns, but moves into the kitchen, eyeing her warily.

 

Madeline thinks nothing of it, glad to be met with silence instead of trying to carry on a conversation, but she does notice the anger flaring in the older woman's eyes. Doesn't take a genius to figure out whatever happened between them must the reason Betty has locked herself away in a mental crawlspace.

 

“Is that all you have to say to me?” Alice asks.

 

Madeline sighs, giving up on having a nice glass of orange juice with breakfast, turning to grab an apple instead.

 

“Yes?” she answers, inwardly cringing that it comes out like a question.

 

Alice's eyes narrow even more.

 

Madeline rubs the apple on her sweater, and heads for the door.

 

“I have to go to school,” she says in departure, relieved that Alice doesn't say anything more.

 

/\

 

It's so bright out.

 

Thank god Betty had a pair of sunglasses in her backpack, Madeline only now realizing that her time in this world mainly comes around dusk or later, the sun is a factor she's never had to deal with. The walk to Riverdale High is thankfully uneventful, casually munching on the apple as she goes, and drops the core into a bush one block away from campus.

 

Veronica is already on the front steps when Madeline approaches the main building, smirking slightly at the vigorous wave her presence receives, and goes cold a moment when she realizes there's no easy way to explain what's about to happen.

 

“What's with the glasses?” Veronica asks, lifting her arms to wrap around Madeline's neck, pushing up on her toes for a hello kiss.

 

Madeline shifts her head back before contact is made, Veronica instantly pouting, a small groan of disappointment escaping her throat.

 

“No one likes a tease, Betty.” she laments.

 

Madeline pushes the sunglasses back, earning a gasp when Veronica realizes why she didn't get her kiss.

 

“Not Betty,” she fills in.

 

-

 

“How did this happen?” Veronica asks in a harsh whisper.

 

They're in the girls locker room, for lack of a better place to have this conversation, first period gym not really an issue at Riverdale High. Talking softly even though they appear to have it to themselves.

 

“I don't know,” Madeline answers. “I woke up in her bed, wearing her pajamas, but somehow I was still me.”

 

Veronica runs a hand through her hair, eyes closing against the stress of the situation.

 

“Were you even out last night?”

 

Madeline looks into the cold blank space again. Betty's still in there but she isn't answering. Then catches flashes of something red and angry, but loses them just as quickly.

 

“No,” she answers. “I wasn't. But I think something big went down between Betty and Alice. I tried to get her to talk about this morning, but she was still so upset.”

 

Veronica's concerned expression quickly shifts to shock.

 

“You can talk to each other?” she asks, covering one of Madeline's hands with her own. “Since when?”

 

Madeline flushes with a sudden embarrassment. The feeling so strange and new. She's not entirely sure how to process it.

 

“I never tried before today,” she admits. “And you know Betty, she is never interested in what I get up to. But the switch has never happened like this. It was always... Her emotions would open a window, and when the chance came, I'd step through it.”

 

Madeline shifts her feet.

 

“She's never just handed over the reins.”

 

Veronica regards her intently.

 

“You're scared.”

 

Madeline doesn't even try to deny it.

 

“I'm not her,” she says softly. “I exist because I'm supposed to be everything she isn't. So tell me, Veronica. Who am I really, if I pretend to be?”

 

Veronica pulls their hands toward her chest.

 

“We'll figure this out,” she assures. “Somehow. We just have to get through today. Do you think you can do that?”

 

Madeline nods.

 

“Okay,” Veronica starts, letting their hands drop. “Then let's get it over with.”

 

“Okay,” Madeline echoes. “I can do this. I can fucking-”

 

“Careful with the potty mouth,” Veronica admonishes. “Everyone knows Betty is just awful with no-no words.”

 

The second they exit the locker room, Cheryl is there, with an alarmed look on her face.

 

“Can't keep your hands off of each other for five minutes, can you?” she taunts. “Tell me you didn't just defile the sanctity of the Vixens den.”

 

Madeline laughs, which isn't the response Cheryl expected, looking at her curiously.

 

“Take it easy Red,” she says in greeting. “Nothing happened.”

 

Cheryl's curiosity turns to confusion, knowing Madeline is the only one who ever calls her that, and she looks to Veronica who nods.

 

“Maddie?” she all but shouts. “What are you-”

 

“Walk with us,” Madeline invites. “We'll fill you in.”

 

-

 

Lunchtime rolls around, and Madeline has managed to make it through the first half of the day without incident, but pretending to be Betty is taking a toll and she is seriously burnt from the effort. She's nestled comfortably between Veronica and Cheryl on a picnic bench in the quad, while Archie, Valerie, and Jughead sit across from them.

 

Archie and Val don't seem to notice anything off, but Madeline keeps locking eyes with Jughead and for whatever reason, it feels like he can see right through her.

 

“You feeling okay, Betts?” he asks around a mouth full of sandwich. “You look kind of pale.”

 

That gets Archie to look at her a bit more intently, his brows furrowing in guilt for having not seen it himself, and Valerie just lifts an inquisitive brow.

 

“I'm fine,” she says to all of them, shooting a quick look to each girl at her sides. “I just... Didn't get a lot of sleep last night.”

 

Veronica gives a playful nudge to her shoulder.

 

“Burning the midnight oil working on her latest article,” she fills in further. “It's all about that Blue and Gold.”

 

Madeline looks to Jughead again, praying to whatever deity it applies to, that he not ask about the nonexistent article. Betty may have a way with words, but when Madeline had to spend part of her free period in the school paper's office to work on a real story, some human interest piece about a farm down the highway from town where their prized thoroughbred got out of its pen. Madeline stared at the computer screen for nearly five minutes and the only sentence she manged to type was: _the horse jumped over the fucking fence._

 

“So A-arch,” Madeline starts, verbally tripping over the nickname. “How's the music going?”

 

That begins a conversation between Archie, Val, Cheryl, and Veronica. She and Jughead the only ones not participating. She picks at her plate, barely having eaten any of it, her stomach twisting with the effort of this charade. Feeling Jughead's eyes again, she lifts her head to meet them, and bites the side of her cheek to keep from showing a reaction.

 

The way her keeps looking at her...

 

It's like he knows.

 

-

 

Madeline splashes cold water on her face. It's two in the afternoon and she is losing it. Veronica and Cheryl watch with concern, as she paces back and forth across the empty bathroom, pulling the ribbon from her hair and tugging at the hem of the sweater.

 

“Why did I think I could do this?” she mutters to herself. “Why did I think to do this? It's not like I need to go to school, but we couldn't have little miss perfect's attendance record be ruined, now could we? Of course not.”

 

Cheryl moves toward her, a cautious hand outstretched.

 

“Maddie?” she begins. “Sweetie? You are going full on Girl, Interrupted right now and we are starting to worry.”

 

Madeline shoots a withering glare at her, but Cheryl stands her ground.

 

“It's just,” Madeline starts, gesturing wildly at her clothes. “Wrong. This is all wrong.”

 

“What's wrong?” Cheryl asks.

 

“I don't want to be her!” she shouts. “I can't, I won't-”

 

Cheryl places a hand on Madeline's shoulder, then pushes closer when she's not shrugged off, and inhales sharply when the full brunt of the taller girl's arms pull her into a hug. Veronica watches the embrace, feeling so helpless, so unsure what to do.

 

“Where did she go?” Madeline asks in a whisper. “Why won't she come back?”

 

Cheryl rubs circles gently on her back, head turning to catch Veronica's eyes, mouthing 'help me' over her shoulder. Veronica remains frozen in place, until Madeline lifts her head and looks to her with tear stained eyes.

 

“Let Cheryl take you home,” Veronica offers. “You can't stay here anymore, and you shouldn't have to. We'll tell everyone you weren't feeling well.”

 

Madeline nods against Cheryl's hair.

 

“You don't mind, Red?”

 

Cheryl doesn't hesitate.

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Okay,” Madeline agrees. “But what about her parents? If Alice-”

 

“They'll be at the office,” Veronica assures. “You have a few hours to rest, at least.”

 

“Okay,” Madeline repeats. “Sorry I... I'm sorry.”

 

Cheryl pulls away from the embrace, smoothing a hand through her hair, and wiping away Madeline's tears.

 

“There's nothing to be sorry for,” she offers with a smile.

 

/\

 

The crash of a broken dish jars her awake.

 

Face down on Betty's bed, still wearing Betty's clothes, but her hand reaches up to feel her familiar black strands. It's the first thing she did, after Cheryl dropped her off at the Cooper household, went straight to the closet and got her hair from the box.

 

Still here, she thinks.

 

Rising from the bed, she goes straight for the vanity, and places her hand on the mirror.

 

“Still me,” she says aloud.

 

She can hear Alice's voice through the floor, her footsteps growing louder, but then hears that other voice inside her head.

 

“There you are,” she says to the reflection. “Finally calmed down, have you?”

 

Madeline's eyes turn cold, when that voice finally spills the details as to why today had happened the way it did, and she rises to her feet with an anger she didn't even know they were capable of.

 

-

 

Alice is still in the kitchen when Madeline heads downstairs, wrapping a bandage around her finger, mostly likely from the breaking sound she heard earlier.

 

“Why are you wearing that?” Alice asks, eyes still focused on her task.

 

Madeline touches it on instinct.

 

“It's my hair,” she answers.

 

“It makes you look like a trollop.”

 

Madeline smirks.

 

“Don't I just?”

 

The sarcastic reply pulls Alice's attention away from her cut.

 

“I don't think I like your tone,” she states cooly.

 

“Can't say I'm all that fond of yours,” Madeline tosses back.

 

Alice's features pinch into a grimace.

 

“Such disrespect,” she condemns. “From my own daughter.”

 

Madeline looks at her warily.

 

“I'm not your daughter.”

 

Alice's lip curls into a sneer.

 

“Is that so?”

 

Madeline nods.

 

“Then please,” Alice begins, standing up a little straighter. “Tell me who I'm speaking to? Is it you, Mary Magdalene? Or whatever you want to believe your name is?”

 

“Madeline,” she corrects, her jaw set tight.

 

“Oh that's right,” Alice goes on, reaching out to flick at her hair. “Isn't it just like you, Elizabeth? Always crying out for attention.”

 

Madeline swats her hand away, something that brings more ire in the older woman's body language.

 

“When are you going to get this through your head Alice?” she seethes. “Betty. Isn't. Here.”

 

Alice merely glares at her.

 

“One little argument, and suddenly you're not you anymore?” she dismisses. “How convenient.”

 

“Little argument?” Madeline echoes in shock. “Is that all it was to you?”

 

Alice shrugs.

 

“I have to ask,” Madeline inquires. “Why did you even agree to therapy, if you don't think she really needs it? Why use me as a threat to send her away if you don't believe I exist?”

 

Alice's eye twitches, guilt flashing across her face, but she's quick to cover it with her usual bravado.

 

“I mean, that's what this family does right? Ship each other off when someone becomes too much of a burden.”

 

“That is not true.”

 

“No?” Madeline fires back. “Where's Polly? Sent away to a convent full of bible thumping sadists. Who think the only way to appease their god is through pain and punishment. Your own daughter with child out of wedlock? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it Alice? How the sisters must loathe you and the sin in your blood.”

 

Alice is visibly shook from the words.

 

“And poor, perfect little Betty. How you belittle the pain she's in. With your ignorance. Your denial. She can't possibly suffer from mental illness. No. It's so shameful. She must be making it all up in some masochistic cry for attention. That's what you tell yourself, isn't it? That it's all in her head. Never once realizing that's exactly where it is.”

 

Alice moves away from the counter.

 

“I don't have to listen to this.”

 

Madeline snatches her elbow and pulls back with a strength that makes Alice cry out.

 

“No, no, mommy dearest. You've ignored this long enough.”

 

“Let go of me!”

 

“Why do you indulge her then?” Madeline carries on, ignoring her. “Let her see a doctor, who no doubt fills you in on their sessions, and still you can't seem to acknowledge there is a real problem. Why is that?”

 

Madeline squeezes harder.

 

“Because if you ever did, even for a second, it's an admission of guilt. And you can't have that, now can you?”

 

Alice finally frees herself from Madeline's grip, face distorted in horror.

 

“Take a moment,” Madeline offers evenly. “Just stand there and look at me. Really look.”

 

Tears well in the older woman's eyes.

 

“I try my best,” she says softly. “To be a good mother.”

 

Madeline gives her no ground.

 

“Forcing perfection onto your progeny, and being woefully disappointed in them when they can't possibly live up to it, is not reflective of good parenting skills.”

 

“I d-don't,” Alice stutters. “I'm not always like that.”

 

Madeline's eyes narrow at her.

 

“Trying to be a good mother two days a week, doesn't erase what you put her through the other five.”

 

A few tears fall, and Alice turns her head to wipe them away.

 

“You're not looking,” Madeline scolds. “Now, ignore the hair. That's a minute detail. I'm asking you this. Do I talk like Betty?”

 

Alice doesn't want to answer, which is nearly one in itself.

 

“Do I move like her?”

 

Still, Alice doesn't answer.

 

“I don't condone violence to prove a point, but you must admit, one came across didn't it?”

 

“I don't know what you mean.”

 

“Betty would never lay a hand on you. Never ever, ever. She just turns that anger on herself.”

 

Alice flinches from the statement, and Madeline offers her upturned palms.

 

“You can follow the phases of the moon with scars she's made. But there's nothing wrong with her, right Alice? Nothing that would warrant a threat from her own mother, to be put away in some psych ward, if she wants to believe so badly there's another person living inside her head. Where they'd keep her pumped so full of lithium, or Thorazine, she'd be left drooling in front of a window in the common room.”

 

More tears run down Alice's cheeks, hearing the words she'd said come back to haunt her, so many she doesn't bother trying to clear them all away.

 

“I'm sorry,” she offers quietly.

 

Madeline folds her arms.

 

“I'm not the one who needs your apology.”

 

Alice looks at her then, really looks, and finally sees.

 

“Now,” Madeline intones. “Who am I?”

 

-

 

Madeline sits in front the of vanity, running a brush through her hair, softly humming a song she doesn't remember hearing.

 

“What?” she asks the reflection. “Oh. No. Knowing your mother, I don't think much is going to change. But at least she finally knows how you feel. That I exist.”

 

Madeline smiles.

 

“That was very clever of you,” she says. “Pushing me out like that. Forcing her to see. I just wish there was some way you could have warned me. I thought I was going to go crazy, pretending to be you.”

 

She places her hand on the mirror.

 

“Hey, Blondie? I'm glad we can do this now. Maybe it will make things a little easier.”

 

Madeline nods.

 

“Of course I'll be here,” she assures. “Whenever you need me.”

 

One last stroke of the brush, before she places it down.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

Madeline's eyes fall closed, aching for rest after this ordeal of a day, and she drifts off to dreamland with ease.

 

-

 

Betty pulls the wig from her head, careful not to tangle it after the time spent to comb them all out, and places it on its newfound perch atop her vanity. Ready and waiting for the next time Madeline comes around.

 

 

 


End file.
